I finally concede defeat. Giving in to the characters that have been harassing me for weeks, I quickly finish up my obligations for the day and head for my laptop. Waiting for it to turn on, I gently place the cat off of my lap three times before allowing the ginger to stay and smugly settle in. Once it is finally on and ready to go, my music playing in the background, I open up my writing program and open up a new document. I take a minute and fiddle with the font and font size, making sure that everything is exactly as I like it. Then I turn my attention to the blinking cursor on the blank page and something unwelcome happens. I freeze.
This is where insecurities and fears pounce on me. Who are you to think that you can write? Why would anyone want to read it? The story is cliché, the grammar subpar, and I know that there are spelling mistakes that I miss. Aren’t I just rewriting stories that I’ve read over the years? My characters are too shallow, my male characters way off point because I am just a female writer. I tell, I don’t manage to show my stories. People will hate me because I talk to my characters like they are real people. Am I crazy because of that? My characters are impossible, doing things that could never be really accomplished. They say write what you know, why can’t I do that?
These fears roar through me, making my heart race and my hands freeze above the keys. My eyes close, unable to stand the sight of the cursor blinking on the page. I take a deep breath and silence descends on me. And in that silence, a small voice whispers, “Don’t give up, you can do this. You are uniquely you, no one sees the world like you do. And you are not alone. There are people all over the world who have a dream to write. But fear is a big bully and it hates to see people follow their dreams. So he tells you that it’s impossible, that you can never, that you are boring and not good enough. But he lies. You were born to write, you were born to share the stories that only you can see and hear so that other people can enjoy them as well. It is not impossible, this is what you were born to do, this was your calling when you were just an infant who couldn’t even think in words. This. Is. You. And nothing is impossible.”
As hope falls silent, I open my eyes, a slight grin curving my lips. I put my hands on the keyboard. And then… I start to type.
So many times, we are told that things are impossible. What is a fear that would keep you from your writing if it could?